


Being Human

by Cinis



Category: Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Everyone loves weddings, F/F, and tbh im not good at fluff hahah, cotton candy for everyone, i hope you like sugar, so im writing about an ancient greek lesbian wedding instead, that's a lie i keep skipping my friend's weddings, this is 110 percent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinis/pseuds/Cinis
Summary: There is a moment of confused silence. Then, Hippolyta smiles. Hippolyta’s smile can only be described as smug. She is by no means surprised. Elbows on her table, she folds her hands under her chin and leans on them. “So am I paying a dowry or a bride price?”Menalippe opens her mouth to reply, but Antiope gets a word in first. “Both,” Antiope says. She pauses, then, with a shrug, “If you’re offering.”(Antiope and Menalippe get engaged, wrestle a bear, get married - ancient Greece style)





	1. Chapter 1

“Yes.”

Only barely on the verge of being awake, Antiope yawns. She’s sprawled out in Menalippe’s bed. She has half a leg over the edge, dangling in the air. The woven blanket has been kicked off onto the floor at some point during the night (her fault, always – and it annoys Menalippe to no end, but not enough to throw Antiope out). Menalippe is beside her, close enough to be near but far enough to avoid Antiope’s nocturnal flailing.

Lying on her back, Antiope turns her head to look at her companion, one eye closed and the other half-open. “Hm?”

Unlike Antiope, Menalippe has probably been awake for some time. She always wakes up first but she likes to linger so long as Antiope is still sleeping. She’s lying on her stomach with her head turned to the side. She seems unusually solemn but not unhappy. The word, Antiope thinks, is _contemplative_. “My answer is yes,” Menalippe says.

Antiope would like to be asleep again. Her eyelids are heavy. After a week of marching back to the city from the border, she’s glad for their one day of rest before the harvest begins. A day when she can sleep in… Antiope pries her closed eye open just enough that she can see Menalippe’s face clearly. It’s a consolation for being awake.

Menalippe has wrinkles that she didn’t have when the Five first shaped the Amazons from clay. The wrinkles are laugh lines. Like the blanket on the floor, they are Antiope’s fault. Unlike the blanket on the floor, Antiope is proud of them.

“What was my question going to be?” Antiope asks in a sleep-heavy murmur.

Sometimes Menalippe has a poor grasp of time and place. She Sees the future. On occasion, she confuses it with the present and the past. She’s as skilled as any oracle (better, in Antiope’s opinion) at sorting out larger events, but the details of small things can elude her.

Or so she says.

Hippolyta would like dearly if everyone would forget the time that Menalippe mistook it for common knowledge that the queen slept with the ambassador from Athens.

The ambassador had not yet arrived.

Antiope suspects Menalippe knew exactly what she was doing.

“When I try to get out of bed, you grab my hand and ask if I’ll marry you,” Menalippe says. There’s a warmth in her tone that suggests amusement. Her face remains impassive, contemplative, solemn – except for the way her eyes tighten and the edges of her lips twitch. She’s fighting a smile.

This. This wakes Antiope up.

Her eyes are now very much open.

A hesitant smile breaks across Antiope’s face. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“No, my love,” Menalippe says. She reaches out and brushes her fingertips against Antiope’s cheek. “I’m answering your question.”

Menalippe is lying on the other side of the bed.

All of her is muscle and she spends so much time in the practice fields that her skin is pale in the shape of her armor. Her long dark hair is tied back loosely. There’s a joy in her eyes that lights its answer in Antiope. Menalippe is the most beautiful of the Amazons and Antiope will fight anyone who would say otherwise.

Antiope being Antiope, she’ll also win.

Menalippe is lying on the other side of the bed (while Antiope can sleep through elbowing Menalippe in the face, Menalippe can’t) and that’s entirely too far away.

Antiope rolls her way across the bed. With the blanket kicked to the floor, there’s nothing to tangle her up in. She comes to a stop when her side rests against Menalippe’s. She can feel the slight movement of Menalippe’s chest as she breathes, in and out. On her back again now, she tilts her head towards Menalippe, looks into her dark eyes. Antiope wrinkles her nose in mock indignation. “You didn’t have the decency to let me ask first?”

Menalippe sets her fingertips lightly in the center of Antiope’s chest, just below her breasts, a ghostly touch. She draws butterfly-soft circles there. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?”

“To steal my question from me?” Antiope replies. “Since before we met, no doubt.”

In all fairness though, Antiope has spent the better part of half a year looking for the right way to ask. But, knowing how Menalippe lives halfway in the future, it’s entirely possible she _has_ been waiting for the better part of a decade.

“You were going to be anxious,” Menalippe says. “I did not want you to be anxious.” Menalippe pauses, then. “You can still ask, if you like.” Her eyes sparkle.

Antiope frowns. It has taken her half a year to not ask because she doesn’t know how she wants to ask.

“Would you like me to tell you what you’re going to say?” Menalippe offers.

Antiope doesn’t dignify that with a response. She keeps thinking on it. When she does speak, her words come out measured. “Menalippe, I love you. Please marry me?”

Instead of answering – she’s already done that, Antiope supposes – Menalippe kisses Antiope. It is a brief thing and not at all the kind of morning kiss that Antiope wants in this moment.

When Menalippe pulls away, she’s wearing her ‘ _I know what happens next_ ’ smile.

Antiope smiles back. She knows what happens next too.

[] [] []

Antiope and Menalippe walk side by side through the white streets of Themyscira. The city commands the plain beneath the Rhodope along the western bank of the Nestos near the sea. The weather at midday is still warm even in late autumn and they both wear short tunics. All around the city, their sisters laze about. Tomorrow the harvest will begin but today is for rest. Among the Greek cities, Themyscira is more peaceful and more prosperous than most. The Amazons can afford a day of idleness.

More than once, rival states have thought the Amazons weak on account of their peace and their sex. Such states take no head that Themyscira has the strength to field a standing army, a feat few can match. Athens, in particular, has sailed often to challenge the might of Themyscira.

Antiope, Menalippe, and the rest of the army have always corrected this mistake _firmly_.

Athens, for all its silver and all its allies, cannot conquer the Amazons.

Sometimes Antiope thinks that the Five created her for the purpose of war. It’s what she excels at. She is not _strategos_ because she was the second-made of the Amazons and she is not _strategos_ because she is Hippolyta’s sister in a way that is more than the sisterhood of their comrades. She is _strategos_ because she is the best. She is the best warrior, the best strategist, the best commander on the field.

She is Antiope of Themyscira.

And thinking that soon she’ll be Antiope, wife of Menalippe, beloved of Menalippe – she wants to accost every person they pass in the street and tell them that she is the most blessed woman in all Greece.

But.

There is a proper way of doing things.

For now then, Antiope contents herself with walking alongside Menalippe and grinning like a fool. On a whim, she reaches out and takes Menalippe’s hand. Menalippe obliges her, intertwining their fingers.

Hippolyta, if she had to hear second hand what her sister intended, would throw a dignified fit.

And so, Antiope and Menalippe are on their way to Hippolyta’s palace.

It’s Antiope’s palace too. She has rooms there. She is nominally a member of her sister’s household. When the army is in the city though, far more nights than not she stays with Menalippe in Menalippe’s small house near the fields. Antiope likes it better there. Hippolyta’s palace is cavernously sterile and too quiet for Antiope’s liking. Antiope is a creature of movement and of clatter.

Also, Menalippe’s house has Menalippe. Hippolyta’s palace simply can’t compete.

There is little question in either of their minds as to which house they will take the torches. This forms yet another reason for their visit to Antiope’s sister, beyond mere custom.

The guards at the great golden gate of the palace are surprised to see them. They know better than most Antiope’s comings and goings from the palace, or, rather, her lack thereof. The guards let them pass unquestioned though. It is, after all, Antiope’s palace.

Antiope knows exactly where to find her sister. Hippolyta works. Hippolyta works _compulsively_. It’s going to age her prematurely.

Antiope leads the way through the great white marble corridors of the complex, heading straight for the room that Hippolyta uses for her numbers.

[] [] []

Wearing a white tunic, a white cloak and a golden crown, Hippolyta sits at the great table in her quarters in the palace, pouring over a stack of slates. There is a mindboggling mess of figures scribbled over them. Merchants, supplies, stores of grain for the winter. Her blond hair is tied back loosely so she can scowl at her figures all the better.

Hippolyta looks up at whomever has been let in to see her. She takes in Antiope, come to the palace wearing clothes instead of armor. She takes in Menalippe, a half-step behind Antiope, stoic as ever. Her eyes narrow. Her brow furrows and her lips pull into a slight frown.

Hippolyta sets down her chalk with a sharp clack against her slate. “ _Strategos_ ,” she says, greeting Antiope by title before addressing Menalippe. “ _Lochagos_.”

Menalippe steps around Antiope and bows slightly. She straightens again and clasps her hands behind her back. “My queen.” Her every movement is strength and grace. Behind Menalippe, Antiope does her best to borrow from Menalippe’s solemnity and compose herself.

“Speak,” Hippolyta grants. Her tone is that of a sovereign addressing a subject. Hippolyta does love her formality.

“My queen, I seek your permission to marry your sister,” Menalippe says. Her voice is even and calm, every bit as regal as Hippolyta’s.

There is a moment of confused silence. Then, Hippolyta smiles. Hippolyta’s smile can only be described as smug. She is by no means surprised. Elbows on her table, she folds her hands under her chin and leans on them. “So am I paying a dowry or a bride price?”

Menalippe opens her mouth to reply, but Antiope gets a word in first. “Both,” Antiope says. She pauses, then, with a shrug, “If you’re offering.”

Menalippe clears her throat. “We spend very little time here in the palace,” she says diplomatically.

“You’re far too good for her, _lochagos_. As all Themyscira knows,” Hippolyta remarks, voice dry. Reclining slightly in her seat, she picks up her long stick of chalk and twirls it through her fingers. “The dowry is no doubt cheaper.”

A wry grin stretches across Menalippe’s face. “And you know, of course, that I disagree, my queen.”

“But I think Antiope sides with me in this matter,” Hippolyta replies. Antiope catches Menalippe’s eye and shrugs. Her sister is, in this matter, correct. “And so you are out-voted,” Hippolyta finishes.

“Out-voted?” Menalippe replies. “My queen, we are not Athens.”

Hippolyta scoffs. “Thank the gods.”

[] [] []

The next day, the first day of the harvest, Antiope and Menalippe go down to the fields together. Menalippe has dragged them out of bed and gotten them there before most of the others. Apollo has only just begun to light the horizon. It’s too early for Antiope to be alive, much less awake. And with so few of their sisters assembled, they can’t even properly begin.

Half-awake, half-alive, Antiope totters over to Menalippe, who is standing a short distance away enjoying the sunrise.

“Sit,” Antiope demands.

Menalippe turns and, instead of sitting, leans over and kisses Antiope on the forehead.

Antiope grunts unhappily. It is not fair that the gods made her short. And Menalippe is not that much taller than she is – _she’s not_. The world is unjust.

Menalippe sits down, crossing her legs.

Antiope follows her down, puts her head in Menalippe’s lap, and goes back to sleep.

(Menalippe’s lap is not nearly as comfortable as an actual pillow. She is made out of muscle and muscle is not soft. She smells like home though, and that’s enough for Antiope.)

[] [] []

Their fellows congratulate them, of course.

But for near every congratulation, there’s an accompanying question of why it took so long.

For some reason, all Themyscira has concluded that it is Antiope’s fault.

This is bull-crap.

But Menalippe is the sort of person who is never blamed for anything. And Antiope is the sort of person who, more often than not, is at the bottom of things. It is her job, after all, to lead.

It’s the fifty-sixth time the issue arises. They’re sitting around a cooking fire at the end of a long day of cutting wheat, Antiope, Menalippe, and two other _lochagoi_ , golden Penthesilea and solid Artemis.

Penthesilea speaks from around a mouthful of bread and cheese. “So _strategos_ , why’d it take you ten years? Sex not good enough ‘til now? It’s just like you to keep a woman waiting.”

Penthesilea is known for many things. Her skill on the battlefield. Her beautiful hair. Her _thing_ with Achilles. What she is not known for is _tact_.

“The sex is excellent and always has been,” Antiope replies, not without pride. Penthesilea’s needling is done with a good heart.

Artemis interjects, “We march with the both of you,” she says. “We know.” She takes a stick and pokes the fire to keep it burning steady. Sparks go up towards the dark sky. As autumn declines, the air is growing cooler at night.

“So,” Penthesilea takes up again. She pushes more food into her mouth. “Why the wait?”

Antiope turns to Menalippe, seated beside her. “Why did it take you so long, hm?”

“If I’d asked any earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to steal your question,” Menalippe says, with absolutely no shame whatsoever.

This draws laughter from their companions.

“You would,” Antiope grumbles. “I knew it.”

Menalippe slides a hand across Antiope’s lower back and puts her mouth near Antiope’s ear. Her hot breath on the sensitive skin makes Antiope shiver and lean into her. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Penthesilea rolls her eyes. “Aphrodite’s sake, get a room.”

[] [] []

Menalippe could easily have set herself up as one of the great oracles of Greece and had pilgrims come from near and far to give her gold and gems in return for indecipherable half-truths. The gift that Hermes gave her rivals that of Apollo’s Pythia or Zeus’ Dodona. But, in her words, her god is a sheep-stealer. He did not give her the gift of prophecy for her to so abuse it.

What, exactly, abusing the gift of prophecy means escapes Antiope. More than once, Antiope has witnessed Menalippe refusing to locate pilfered livestock, claiming some sort of moral obligation to her patron. Try though Hippolyta often does to impress upon her the importance of Athenian tariffs, Menalippe also cannot be convinced to say much of anything about politics. Cryptic words of doom are also not things that much interest her. Weddings, on the other hand—

“It will rain that day,” Menalippe advises.

“The day after?” Antiope suggests.  
  
“It’s a big storm,” Menalippe replies.

Lying in bed, Antiope groans and covers her face with her hands. “You could pick a day,” she says, hope coloring her tone. She peeks out from between her fingers.

Menalippe’s response comes with a small smile. “I think not,” she says.

“You’re enjoying this,” Antiope says.  
  
Menalippe’s smile gets bigger.

If Menalippe is enjoying herself, Antiope isn’t going to stop. “The day after the day after?”

[] [] []

In the end, they choose a day at the end of winter, one of the last days that the army will spend in the city before returning to the border. Once they have chosen their day, though, actually planning a wedding is not one of Antiope’s many skills. And, though Menalippe is very good at foreseeing all the things that might go wrong, she’s not much of an event planner either.

So it is a good thing that Antiope has a sister and that said sister is Hippolyta, mistress of all things involving organization, logistics, and bossing people around. She also has a superiority complex and all it takes is a whisper of a suggestion for Hippolyta to order them not to do anything lest they ruin _her_ wedding.

From time to time Menalippe will go up to the palace at the end of the day of her own initiative to advise Hippolyta on something the queen is contemplating but otherwise the both of them let Antiope’s sister enjoy herself.

It is a good distribution of labor.

[] [] []

Cutting wheat all day leaves Antiope sorer than marching, than fighting, than just about anything else, really. Her muscles, excellent for war, are unused to the motions of agriculture.

She thanks the Five, thanks Hermes, thanks all the gods that Menalippe has magic hands.

“Lower,” Antiope says. She’s sprawled out face down on Menalippe’s bed. “Right under the shoulder.”

Menalippe digs her thumbs into Antiope’s back.

Antiope swears, loudly.  
  
“Too hard?” Menalippe asks.  
  
Antiope lets out a pained laugh. “No, just right.”

[] [] []

The only time Hippolyta comes to consult them is on the matter of which gods they will honor and in what ways.

Menalippe’s patron is Hermes. Antiope follows Ares. Neither Hermes nor Ares are lords of the household. Indeed, they are somewhat the opposite.

There have been only a bare handful of marriages among the Amazons before and none preceded by a wedding so elaborate as that which Hippolyta would like to plan. Insofar as the purpose of marriage is the begetting of heirs, the Amazons have little use for it. Insofar as the purpose of marriage is for the community to recognize the joinder of two souls, again, it adds little to the ways of life in Themyscira.

And so there are few rituals native to them; and many that could be taken from the Greeks are sorely wanting.  
  
Hippolyta finds the both of them sitting together outside Menalippe’s house as the sun sets on the fields where they’ve toiled all day.

Hippolyta seats herself next to Menalippe. She does not often sit on the ground now that the Amazons have built a city for themselves. More than once she has told Antiope that she finds it uncomfortable and she does not much like it. As she sits now, her white cloak is no doubt getting dirty.

“My queen,” Antiope says. Menalippe follows her a half-beat later.

“ _Strategos_ , _logachos_ ,” Hippolyta replies. “I have come to a snarl regarding my planning of my wedding for you.”

“Have you now?” Antiope asks, not terribly concerned.

“Hermes will be offended if his presence is not requested at the beginning,” Menalippe says, anticipating Hippolyta’s question and leaving Antiope to piece together what is going on.

She doesn’t mind. It’s a challenge and she enjoys challenges. And she knows that if the few seconds it takes her to catch up were truly vital, Menalippe would pause to explain.

“Have you Seen it?” Hippolyta asks.

“No,” says Menalippe. “But I know my god.” This is an understatement. As an oracle, Menalippe serves as a priestess to the army when they’re away from the city. She knows most of the gods. “I should offer to Hermes and Antiope should offer to Ares.”

Hippolyta nods. “Perhaps if you make your offerings separately at the very start then?”

Menalippe frowns. “Perhaps, but not before the offerings to Artemis and Aphrodite.”

As her sister and Menalippe go over the finer points of calling on the gods, Antiope’s attention drifts. She is a general. The entire point of having queens and priestesses is so that they work out what to say to the gods on behalf of others. So, instead of trying to come up with opinions when she hasn’t got any, she listens to the rise and fall of Menalippe’s voice.

Menalippe always speaks with confidence.

In the beginning, Antiope was never really sure if Menalippe sounded so confident because she had Seen something or because she always sounded that way. Over the years, Antiope has come to conclude the latter.

She has also concluded that the difference matters little. Such is her trust in Menalippe.

[] [] []

At the end of the harvest, the Amazons celebrate Demeter and Kore with a great festival.

The unwatered wine starts in the morning and then it doesn’t stop.

It is Antiope’s favorite festival, even though she’s not terribly clear on what happens during the middle of it.

The important part is that by the end of the day, Antiope celebrates Menalippe.

They stagger to Menalippe’s small house together, leaning on one another for support, laughing. They open the front door by turning the latch and then practically falling through it. Antiope kicks it closed behind them as Menalippe teeters towards their bed. When she gets there, she sits down on the edge, facing Antiope. Her face is flush.

Antiope has gotten herself propped up against the doorframe. “You’re beautiful,” she announces. Talking is difficult – not because she has had more wine than is reasonable, but because it is hard to speak when one is grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re talking too much,” Menalippe replies. Her own smile is a more measured thing than Antiope’s, but it is no less expressive of her mind.

Antiope pushes off from the door and crosses the room. When she gets to Menalippe, she nudges Menalippe’s legs apart so that she can stand between them, knees against the edge of the bed. Her hands go to rest on Menalippe’s shoulders. Menalippe sitting, Antiope standing – “Who’s the short one now?” Antiope asks. She tries to sound aggressively smug, but she’s smiling so much she thinks she doesn’t do a good job of it. The wine is a pleasant buzz in her head.

“That would be you, my love,” Menalippe says, looking up. Her own hands go to Antiope’s hips. There’s mischief in her eyes.

Menalippe has just issued a challenge. Antiope is sure of it. And Antiope has never said no to a challenge. _Never_.

Antiope pushes against Menalippe’s shoulders. Antiope is Antiope. When she moves, things happen. She pushes hard and Menalippe folds, falling backwards onto the bed. She’s laughing as she falls and that really needs to stop because nothing about calling Antiope short is funny, ever.

Antiope crawls up onto the bed as well, slips her thigh up between Menalippe’s legs, uses her hands to push down on Menalippe’s shoulders, and tries to make her stop laughing by kissing her thoroughly. She starts at the hollow at the base of Menalippe’s neck, then makes her way up, occasionally letting her teeth threaten against the delicate skin, but never doing more than threaten.

It’s not one of those nights.

For her part, Menalippe tilts her head back, exposing more of her throat for Antiope. Her eyes are closed. She smiles with her lips parted slightly. She has stopped laughing.

Menalippe is enjoying herself and so Antiope is pleased with her work. But Antiope can do more, can do better. And she will.

As Antiope makes her way up Menalippe’s throat, one of her hands drifts away from Menalippe’s shoulder. Her fingertips trail along the soft underside of Menalippe’s arm, ghostly light. Menalippe shudders at the touch.

When Antiope finally sets her mouth against Menalippe’s, Menalippe kisses her back. Menalippe’s hands slide around the back of Antiope’s head, fingers slipping through her hair, pulling her closer.

Menalippe tastes like the wine they’ve been drinking all day. It was very good wine.

Antiope nudges her thigh up further, applying a gentle pressure to Menalippe’s center. Menalippe rolls her hips once, twice, then pulls away from their kiss. Her eyes are open now and there’s a wicked grin on her face. “My love,” she starts. “You’re very short.”

Antiope replies with a loud sigh. Clearly the kissing has not been entirely effective. But Antiope would be a terrible _strategos_ if she didn’t have a backup plan.

“Give me some room,” Antiope says. Her voice comes out rough and urgent because there’s a great anticipation sitting in her throat, in her chest, lower – the same sense of want and the same sense of want about to be fulfilled that she felt the first time she had Menalippe under her.

She would very much like Menalippe under her _now_. She would very much like _contact_. She wants as much of herself, all of herself, pressed against Menalippe, against this woman whom she desires and whom she loves more dearly than she has ever loved anything or anyone else in all her life.

Menalippe obliges Antiope’s request, pushing herself backwards in the bed.

It’s a large bed. It has to be. Antiope fights people in her sleep and Menalippe likes to sleep.

More securely away from the edge of the bed now, Antiope goes back to kissing Menalippe.

The nice thing about _chitons_ is that they are all drapery. Getting them on can be a great ordeal but getting them off again is easy. Shoving them out of the way is even easier.

Antiope’s hands move quickly, skimming across skin, sometimes pausing to press down, occasionally digging slightly with short, blunt nails. She covers Menalippe with her body, sets her hips against Menalippe’s – when she moves, she moves them both.

Menalippe reciprocates, of course, but this is Antiope’s night and so Antiope tries not to dwell overly much on what it is that Menalippe is doing to her. She wants Menalippe to feel, to know, her heart.

And so she must focus.

When she judges that she has neglected nothing, Antiope shifts her attention lower.

Antiope gets her face between Menalippe’s legs quickly, but then she goes slowly. With one hand, she dances her fingertips across Menalippe’s stomach and along her side, tracing ghost-light patterns on her skin.

Antiope knows Menalippe’s body better than she knows her own. She finds Menalippe’s rhythm, listens to her sighs, reads her motions. She pushes to Menalippe’s edge and then she stops. She lifts her head back up, work unfinished. Grinning triumphantly, “Who’s the short one now?”

There’s a moment where Menalippe covers her face with her hands and groans. It lasts just long enough that Antiope is sure that she’s won. And then Menalippe’s knees lock hard around Antiope’s torso and suddenly Antiope is on her back and this was not at all part of the plan.

Antiope’s Menalippe is a seer and tall and also the third-best warrior among the Amazons and life really isn’t fair.

“You, always,” Menalippe says. She sets her mouth right next to Antiope’s ear. “I still owe you for taking your question.”

And then it’s her turn.

[] [] []

The day after the festival, Antiope and Menalippe don’t get out of bed.

The harvest is over. The army is home. There’s still work to be done, but it will not be done today.

Antiope nestles herself in Menalippe’s arms.

  
(Antiope is a little bit hungover. Just a little bit. The hangovers are getting worse as time wears on – created in the full flower of youth, the Amazons are slowly aging. Antiope does not mind so much growing old, so long as she can do it with Menalippe at her side.)  


Menalippe is warm and she is safe.

Antiope closes her eyes and enjoys the day.

[] [] []

There is, of course, the matter of gift-giving.

It is not by any means required by custom or by law, but Antiope would like very much to give a wedding gift to Menalippe.

Getting anything for Menalippe is always a challenge. Not only does she live halfway in the future thus always knows what it is that Antiope plans, but it is already the case that everything Antiope has is Menalippe’s. There is no way around it. Menalippe can’t help but See and, insofar as Antiope has everything she wants for, so does Menalippe. And so, over the years, Antiope has just learned to forge ahead regardless.

She speaks, briefly, with her sister, only to ensure that they do not end up at cross-purposes. They are sisters in a greater sense than the sisterhood of the rest of the Amazons and they often think alike.

This time, however, they do not.

Hippolyta is having the smiths craft a crown to match the pair that she and Antiope wear. It will be a queenly gift, the sort that must be given by Hippolyta and can only be given by Hippolyta. Thus, Antiope is free to apply herself.

She prowls the market. She roams the riverbank. She scowls at her breakfast, her lunch, and her dinner.

Menalippe does not comment on Antiope’s intensity. She no doubt knows what it is Antiope is working at and how it will end. It is out of the question though that she should offer any assistance in the matter.

Antiope can forgive Menalippe stealing her question out from under her.

Should Menalippe intervene now though, that Antiope will not forgive.

So instead, Menalippe gives Antiope a kiss as they leave her house in the morning and goes off to do something she won’t tell Antiope about and leaves Antiope to mull.

[] [] []

The idea comes to her one morning as she, shamefaced, is picking up the blanket she’s kicked on the floor again.

And when the idea comes to her, her eyes light up and she grins from ear to ear. She has solved the unsolvable problem.

[] [] []

Antiope has not woven anything in years but when she marches into the loomhouse, she pretends that she is not desperately intimidated by the clatter of loomweights and the judgement of her peers who know what they are doing. She is Antiope of the Amazons. Weaving is not so hard.

[] [] []

She requires assistance locating where the thread is kept.

She requires assistance arranging the warp threads.

She requires assistance tying them to their weights.

She requires constant supervision to keep her cloth from becoming oddly bunched and lumpy.

Her weaving takes her a week longer than anyone thought it would.

The result is oddly bunched and lumpy.

And then there’s the embroidering.

Outside the loomhouse, late autumn turns to winter.

Throughout though, her sisters are kind. They keep their laughter to a minimum. And at the end they look at her masterpiece, a lumpy blanket with a lopsided black horse on it, and they assure her that Menalippe will like it. Antiope does not require their assurances. She knows Menalippe will like it.

[] [] []

Antiope does not wait for the wedding to give her gift.

It is winter and winter is cold. And Menalippe knows what the gift is already anyway.

Knowing that Menalippe will like it doesn’t diminish the flutter of impatient anticipation in Antiope’s heart as she sits at Menalippe’s table with her gift hidden behind her, waiting for Menalippe to return home for the evening. She wonders if this is how Menalippe always feels.

The days have grown short and before long night falls. Antiope props her head on her hands with her elbows on the table. Waiting is boring. She doesn’t know how Menalippe does it.

Antiope is dozing at the table when the front door finally opens. At the sound of the latch, she perks up immediately.

Menalippe enters. Her face has a smudge of dirt across one cheek. She’s holding a circular shield, bronze, gleaming. There is one long scratch across the face but otherwise it looks as if it has never seen so much as a training sword. Menalippe looks somewhat sheepish. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” she says.

Antiope’s smile comes easily. “I’m always keeping you waiting,” she says. She reaches behind her for her gift, then stands, still holding it behind her back. “I brought you something.”

Menalippe hefts the shield. She is strong and so, from the effort raising it seems to take her, the shield is clearly heavy. There’s a reason most shields are made of wood and leather. Menalippe offers Antiope a small smile, proud. “I brought you something as well.” The shield goes onto the table with a thud.

Antiope has to restrain herself from immediately reaching out to touch the bronzework. She very much wants to feel the metal under her fingertips. She can see a design etched into its face, but she is standing at the wrong angle to examine it. There is no doubt, of course, that the shield is of the highest quality. Menalippe is as good a judge of arms as any of Antiope’s officers. Moreover, the long scratch across the face of the shield is a testing mark. Someone struck the shield with a blade or shot an arrow at it to be assured it would survive battle.

Knowing all this, Antiope wants to hold the thing, to get to know it. It will be serving her well for a long time, she thinks.

But, for the moment, there remains something far more important than her pawing at her new shield.

Antiope takes the blanket, neatly folded, from behind her back and offers it to Menalippe.

Antiope watches greedily as Menalippe’s smile widens and her eyes light up. Though Menalippe often gives Antiope her smiles, that Antiope has received many has not diminished their value to her. They are, each and every one, precious.

In addition to the shield and her smile, Menalippe kisses Antiope thoroughly in thanks.

That night, Menalippe wraps herself up in her new blanket on her side of the bed while Antiope gets hopelessly tangled in Menalippe’s old blanket as she fights all sorts of men and monsters in her sleep, dreaming of all the things she can do with a bronze shield that she couldn’t with one made of wood.

[] [] []

After the intensity of her weaving and embroidering, Antiope is forced to come to terms with how utterly boring winter in Themyscira is. They are not in a place where it snows much. Instead, the weather is just cold enough to be miserable and always uncomfortably damp.

Late spring through early fall Antiope and most of their warriors patrol the borders of the Amazonian kingdom, fending off raiders and watching for invasions. In the winter though, there’s less need for them in the field and many prefer to spend the season in the city with roofs over their heads.

Worse than boredom, all Themyscira knows that the wedding of Antiope and Menalippe is coming. It will be attended by every Amazon. The excitement is palpable as Antiope walks the streets of the city. She is no stranger to the attention of her fellows, but she is starting to tire of people staring at her like they have nothing better to do. In the lull of winter, even though spring will soon come, they actually don’t have anything better to do, but, still, the point is that Antiope is becoming restless.

She is ready to be married already.

Between the two of them, Menalippe is far better at finding ways to be useful and occupied when away from the field. As Antiope understands it, Menalippe is off consulting with the farmers about planning the next season of crops – a combination of choosing days and seeds and also deciding on appropriate sacrifices.

Dreadfully dull work, in Antiope’s opinion.

So Antiope takes to bothering her other _lochagoi_.

Her other _lochagoi_ do not take well to being bothered.

[] [] []

Antiope locates Penthesilea in the hall of the potter’s studio. She’s painting a bowl. Deep in concentration, she doesn’t notice that Antiope has come up behind her until it’s too late.

“What are you working on?” Antiope asks, sticking her head over Penthesilea’s shoulder.

Penthesilea startles, swears, drops her project.

Antiope catches it.

She’s not the best warrior in Themyscira for nothing. She holds the bowl aloft and turns it this way and that, examining Penthesilea’s work. There’s a man in armor, painted so tall that he’s bending over to fit inside the frame of the bowl. “Oh, is that Achilles?” Antiope asks.

Penthesilea makes to grab the bowl back, but Antiope dodges, barely even looking at her.

“And there’s a woman too,” Antiope remarks. “Is that you?” Antiope squints at the scene in confusion. “What is he…? What are you do-”

Blushing madly, Penthesiela snatches the bowl back from her commander. “Shouldn’t you be planning your wedding?” she asks.

“Hippolyta is doing that,” Antiope replies.

“Then go bother Menalippe,” says Penthesilea. She has not resumed work on her bowl. Instead, she seems to be hunching over it to hide it as best she can.

“Menalippe is being a productive member of society,” Antiope complains.

“Why can’t you be a productive member of society?” Penthesilea asks, rather pointedly.

“Because I’m royalty,” says Antiope.

Penthesilea’s aggrieved sigh is the sort of aggrieved sigh that a poet could write an entire epic about.

[] [] []

Antiope finds Artemis meditating under a local waterfall. She thinks that she approaches quietly, or, at least given the roar of the water, not loud enough to be heard – but Artemis knows she’s coming anyway, even without opening her eyes.

Antiope is only a few horselengths away when Artemis speaks. “ _Strategos_ ,” she says, still not opening her eyes.

“Artemis,” Antiope answers.

“Not now,” Artemis says.

Antiope sighs.

[] [] []

The last of Antiope’s _lochagoi_ is Philippus.

Philippus, when the army is in the city, is never far from Hippolyta. That the two are desperately in love is common knowledge to everyone except Philippus and Hippolyta.

Three winters ago, Antiope made it a personal campaign to alert Hippolyta to the presence of an incredibly eligible suitor right in front of her. The campaign failed. Hippolyta insisted, morosely, that Philippus was her best friend and didn’t think of her like that.

Two winters ago, Antiope set out to convince Philippus that Hippolyta would very much like to have a lot of things done to her. By Philippus.

That conversation did not end well. In retrospect, Antiope was maybe a little too blunt about things.

Last winter, Antiope gave up on them both and spent her time shooting the ambassador from Athens dirty looks every time he came within ten feet of Hippolyta.

The point being – being in the same room as Philippus and Hippolyta drives Antiope crazy. The one time she told them both to just kiss, Hippolyta decided Antiope was drunk and told Menalippe to take her home. And so, Philippus is last on Antiope’s list of _lochagoi_ to harass with her idleness.

She finds Philippus in the early morning sitting beside Hippolyta at a table and behind a pile of slates in queen’s chambers. Both of them look incredibly cross when Antiope waltzes in.

“Yes, _strategos_?” Hippolyta prompts.

“I need something to do,” Antiope says.

“Where’s Menalippe?” Philippus asks.  


“She’s _busy_ ,” Antiope groans.

“So are we,” Hippolyta says. She frowns and tilts her head to the side, thinking. “Why don’t you go catch a deer?”

“A deer?” Antiope asks.

Hippolyta nods, to herself as much to Antiope. “Yes. Go get a deer. White, if you can find one. But brown is fine too. Alive.”

Antiope tilts her head to one side, mimicking her sister. “A live deer?”

“You can sacrifice it at the start of your wedding,” Hippolyta tells her. “To Artemis. If you can’t find a deer, we’ll just use a sheep. But wildlife would probably be appreciated.”

Catching on, Antiope grins. Late winter is hardly the season for hunting deer, but she does love hunting. She has never had to bring back anything still alive and the novelty of it fascinates.

[] [] []

As Antiope departs from the outskirts of the city with her bow and spear and enough provisions for half a week, Menalippe comes running after her. She’s come from the clear other side of Themyscira at a dead sprint and when she comes to a halt beside Antiope, she has to pause, hands on her knees, to catch her breath.

She’s brought her spear, provisions of her own, and she has a great length of rope coiled around her shoulder.

Antiope helps her to stand up again and lets Menalippe lean on her for support. “You’ve decided to join me?” Antiope asks.

Menalippe waits to catch her breath before answering. “You’re going to need an extra pair of hands for your bear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a fluff fic. If you hadn't noticed. I'm an angst writer. I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't understand happiness. Help.
> 
> This will likely be a 3 chapter fic and will hopefully get done this month, my work schedule permitting. Tbh, this is sort of just me bouncing ideas around for how I'm going to handle the Amazons-in-Greece thing for my NaNo next month without having to deal with things like plot.
> 
> And now for your regularly scheduled footnotes:
> 
> lochagos: This is a sort of intermediate rank among the ancient Greek city states. Every city state had its own military hierarchy, so the exact level of a lochagos would vary depending on city state.
> 
> The Penthesilea Painter: The whole thing with Penthesilea painting a bowl that has herself on Achilles on it is a joke that Penthesilea is the Penthesilea painter. Classical archeologists identify ancient pottery that seems to be made by the same artist and give that artist a name, based generally on a "name vase" (a particular piece that the artist is then named after) or the location of a major collection of the artist's work. There is a "Penthesilea painter" with a name vase showing Achilles killing Penthesilea. It's a very, uh, distinctive piece. So here, Penthesilea is the Penthesilea painter painting her own name vase.
> 
> Athens with silver and allies: This is a reference to the Delian League, an alliance of Greek city states that was more or less controlled by Athens by the time of the Peloponnesian War.
> 
> The first half of this chapter is, roughly, the engye - which was the marriage contract between a bride's father and the potential groom. The groom has to ask for the bride from her father and then the father gives the bride over (specifically for the having of legitimate children). In the course of the wedding, the bride transfers to her husbands household from her father's.
> 
> Date of the wedding: For Athenian weddings, at least, around about January was prime wedding time.


	2. Chapter 2

The prospect of a bear is far more exciting than that of a deer.

The Amazons do not often hunt bears. From time to time a hunting party will encounter and kill a bear, but setting out into the forests of Themyscira with the intention of bringing down a bear is a good way to return hungry and empty handed. They are difficult to kill and, especially in the winter, vanishingly rare. It will be spring soon, but it is not quite spring yet.

Trekking through the vast Themysciran forest, Antiope is sweating heavily. She dare not take off her cloak though for fear of cold. While Themyscira proper is close to the warm sea, temperatures drop quickly in the wild land north of the city.

Menalippe has packed enough provisions for only a few days. Antiope takes this as a sign that Menalippe knows where they're going. She Saw that Antiope would be retrieving a bear and not a deer, after all. When Antiope mentions this, however –

"I needed room for rope. If I run out of food, I'll eat yours," Menalippe says. The way she says it, confident as always, it's not clear if she means it seriously or as a joke or both. Having just clambered up a tall shelf of rock, she offers Antiope a hand to help her up. Antiope takes the hand and scrambles along after her. "I know less than you think I know," Menalippe continues. "You give me too much credit."

Antiope pauses to wipe sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and take a gulp of water from her waterskin. They have headed into the foothills, towards the tall Rhodope. The going here is not easy and, if they continue in this direction, will only get worse. "You know where we're going," she says.

Menalippe drinks a mouthful of water from her own waterskin. "No, but there are only so many caves where bears sleep this time of year," she says.

Adjusting how the weight of her gear rests on her back, Antiope grunts. "Whatever you say, my love."

Menalippe tilts her head towards the mountains. "This way."

[] [] []

When they make camp for the night, they do so without speaking. They know their roles. Menalippe works to build a shelter against a fallen tree and Antiope attempts to set a fire. Everything is damp and neither of them has a good time of it. Nothing Antiope does will make her kindling take and, after an eternity of trying during which her fingers grow progressively colder and stiffer, she gives up and goes to help Menalippe heaping leaf litter up.

Dinner is the same as lunch: dried figs, nuts, and cheese. It is nothing as elaborate as what Hippolyta serves in her great palace, but Antiope appreciates simplicity. March food tastes just as good as great platters of richly cooked meats and doesn't leave her unable to move after eating.

When they finish with their dinner, night is falling fast. The tree-cover is dense, the sun is gone from the sky and what remains of light is barely enough to see by. The both of them take their bags and squeeze into the shelter that they have built. The ground is cold and though they've laid a sheet of leather over a leaf floor, neither of them are inclined to lie down. They'll sleep sitting up.

Menalippe wraps her arms tight around Antiope. There's no room tonight for sleep-fighting.

It is hardly the most comfortable of positions to sleep in, but Antiope can think of worse places to be than in Menalippe's arms. She's not comfortable, but she feels good, feels right.

It is Menalippe who breaks their silence, as Antiope is just starting to doze off.

"Do you mind that I waited so long?" Menalippe asks. Her chin is on Antiope's shoulder and her warm breath tickles Antiope's ear. From the sound of her, she has no intention of sleeping soon.

Antiope takes her time in finding a reply. She cannot see Menalippe's face, but she reads her tone well enough. This is not an idle question. Something is bothering her. It would be poor of Antiope not to put care into her answer. However, so tired, her thoughts are slow. Finally, Antiope settles on, "Do you mind that I waited so long?"

"I Saw this shortly after we met," Menalippe replies, voice soft.

 _This_ does not refer to sitting huddled together in a pile of damp leaves. It refers instead to… _this_. "I am glad that you didn't decide to drive me away then and there," Antiope says.

Menalippe lets out a small chuckle. "Never." She squeeze her arms a little, as if she wants to remind Antiope that she has no intention of ever letting go.

"I am quite pleased that you have chosen me now," Antiope says. "Even if it did take you almost ten years."

"My love, I chose to spend my life with you the day we met," Menalippe replies.

Antiope shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position. She is very tired from the day of trekking. Even in conversation, she is beginning to drift. "Something is troubling you," she says.

Menalippe is quiet for a time. "Did you ever choose me?" Menalippe finally asks.

Talk of choice – Antiope sets a hand over one of Menalippe's. "Even the gods cannot bend the will of a mortal," Antiope says. Her voice is gentle. "Have faith in me."

"Mm," Menalippe hums. "Always."

[] [] []

When the sun rises, Antiope is cold and stiff and full of cramps.

Eating a handful of nuts as they walk, she complains, bitterly. "My love, I am getting old."

"The gods created us barely ten years ago," Menalippe replies, amusement warming her tone. It warms Antiope too – sparks a bit of pleasant light in her chest. "You are a child," Menalippe concludes.

"Then the gods could have had the decency to create me a younger body," Antiope says.

"Imagine how Hippolyta must feel," Menalippe offers in way of consolation. Hippolyta, firstborn of the Amazons, predates Antiope by a matter of heartbeats and Antiope is senior to the rest of their fellows by the same measure. In the long, dull winters of Themyscira, those heartbeats have spawned almost as many jokes among the Amazons as Antiope's short stature.

"No wonder she hates sitting on the floor," says Antiope. "I hope I never grow that old."

A small snort escapes Menalippe. "And I hope that you do," she returns.

"When I am so old that I cannot move, as my wife, you must take care of me," Antiope says. "It will be your duty."

"And the same to you," Menalippe replies, affection making her voice light.

Antiope grins. "I look forward to it."

[] [] []

The second night finds them side by side, sitting huddled in a rocky outcrop on a hillside. Menalippe has an arm around Antiope's shoulders. They are high enough that Antiope can see out over trees. It is a clear night and the stars are bright.

In the beginning, the Amazons were not all created equal. To some the gods gave great skill in battle. Others were born with great knowledge. And then some had a portion of both.

The gods made Antiope to fight and to lead. When she took her first breath, she knew everything of violence and of war but nothing of the stars. Over the years, though, Menalippe has taught her. It is because of Menalippe's tutelage that Antiope can look up to the sky and see that winter is giving way to spring. But she still does not know every star.

Antiope points to a bright point of light, "What's that one?"

Menalippe squints, trying to follow Antiope's finger up to the vast array above. "The bright one at Orion's feet?" she asks.

Antiope hums, something close to affirmation. She stuffs her hand back under her armpit where it is warm.

"Arneb," Menalippe says. "It's part of the Hare." She raises a hand and points a little bit east of the cluster of stars Antiope has fixed on. "See Orion's dog there? It's chasing the hare."

Antiope makes a face, though in the dark and facing up, Menalippe won't be able to see it. "I didn't like Orion," she says. "What a _man_."

"No one liked Orion," Menalippe remarks. "Except divine Artemis."

Antiope speaks quietly now. The moon is bright tonight. "She's never had the best taste in men," she says. "Like Hippolyta."

When Menalippe chuckles, so close, Antiope can feel her sides shake. Antiope leans into her, seeking both heat and more of Menalippe's presence. "I'm not sure that divine Artemis has any taste in men," Menalippe says. She pauses, then, "Which might be true of Hippolyta as well."

This draws a great sigh from Antiope. "She has no taste in men, but she has a great taste for them," she complains. So far from Themyscira and with no fear of being overheard, it is easier to speak of these things. "I worry."

Antiope expects Menalippe to assure her that she need not worry.

Menalippe is, instead, silent.

Her silence at this juncture makes Antiope uneasy. Suddenly anxious, she shifts about, then tries to disguise it as a reaction to the chill by sticking ever closer to Menalippe's side. She looks, too, to change the subject slightly. "I do not quite understand what there is to see in men."

Menalippe shrugs slightly. She does not shrug so much that her arm leaves Antiope's shoulders. "It is a form of desire," she says. "And some feel it more strongly than others."

"Do you feel it?" Antiope asks. She is secure in Menalippe's love for her, but she is curious, she thinks.

There is a very long pause. It is not the ominous silence of before though. It is clear that Menalippe is turning thoughts this way and that in her mind. "You know that you are the only one I have ever lain with," she says.

It is a question that does not expect an answer. It hearkens back to a conversation that they had in the first days of their love. Menalippe had freely admitted she'd never been with another, man or woman, and it had _unnerved_ Antiope. She'd experienced a frantic pressure to… to not disappoint.

Menalippe then looked her in the eyes and informed her that she had already Seen that Antiope would not disappoint. Somehow, that had only made the anxiety worse.

"What I feel for others is not what I feel for you," Menalippe says. "And so I think that, perhaps, it is also not what others feel for one another. But I am unsure."

Antiope mulls this over. It is as good an answer as she will get. If Menalippe could give her a clearer answer, Antiope knows that she would. Thinking as she speaks, she begins, "I feel…" She hesitates, choosing her words. " _Heat_ ," she says. "Sometimes. For women who are not you, but never for men. But it is… it is like smoke. It has no substance and it passes."

Menalippe presses her lips against Antiope's cheek in a kiss. "You are wood and you are fire," she says.

The sigh that Antiope lets out is nothing but contentment. "As are you, my love," she replies. "As are you."

[] [] []

Instead of traveling farther up into the mountains, Menalippe leads them along a ridge. She says that she doesn't know where they're going, but Antiope nevertheless trusts her to take them where they need to go. She worries that they will soon run low on food and there is almost no forage in the rock-strewn winter hills, but her faith is such that, if Menalippe has Seen them returning to Themyscira with a bear, Antiope knows they will return to Themyscira with a bear one way or another.

They may return very hungry though.

[] [] []

The bear does not materialize until the morning of the fourth day.

The sky is a dreary grey, threatening rain. The air doesn't quite smell like rain yet though, so they still have time. Or perhaps the rain will never come. Antiope doesn't bother asking Menalippe. She can see the future. She can't change the weather.

Menalippe is walking ahead, as always, when her footing slips. One moment she is three paces in front of Antiope and the next she is gone, though Antiope can hear her cursing, somewhere. Her acerbic swearing sounds less injured, less alarmed, and more incredibly annoyed.

She is probably not hurt then.

Antiope lets go of her spear, still resting on her back, and makes haste cautiously. She stops just short of where Menalippe was a moment ago and then peers forward.

Menalippe's voice is coming from a hole in the ground, difficult to see. In the soft morning light it looks more like a step down than a hidden cave.

"Menalippe?" Antiope calls down. The hole in the ground is deep and hidden in dark shadow. She thinks she can make out the top of Menalippe's head, maybe two and a half arm's-lengths down.

"I'm uninjured, merely surprised," Menalippe calls back. She tilts her face up, shielding her eyes from the light with her hand. "Drop me a rope."

Antiope slips her pack from her shoulders and sets it on the ground beside her. "Didn't See the giant pit in front of your face?" she calls down. She kneels and starts searching for a line. The rope seems to have made its way to the bottom of the pack. Typical.

Slightly cross, Menalippe's voice comes up from the pit, "I do live in the present, sometimes. It's..." She trails off, then, "This cave smells like a bear."

Antiope stops looking for rope. Her hand instead goes to her spear once more. "Is it there?"

Silence follows as Menalippe squints into the darkness. "I don't think so, I don't-"

In an instant Menalippe is gone. There's movement, something large, a thunderous crash, more sounds of struggle. It takes less than a heartbeat's time for Antiope to get her spear from her back and shove herself over the side of the pit, dropping down into the dark.

Her feet hit something soft and slippery. Without solid footing, she goes sliding off the back of the bear. Unable to see, she lurches forward, looking for balance. Her face slams into the rocky wall of the cave.

Recovering, her head rings and the dark world tilts.

 _Focus_.

The fight is a mad scramble in the near pitch-black cave. As best Antiope can tell, the bear is a full grown adult. It's perhaps four times her size. From the snarling, she thinks that she is somewhere near its head. She lashes out with the butt of her spear and hits something –

Menalippe curses, loud. " _Here_ ," she shouts.

Antiope drops her spear and goes to get a handful of the bear's fur with her left hand. She punches with her right hand, hard, in the direction of her fistful of bear. "Here," she grunts.

The bear turns and Antiope is rammed into another wall of the cave. Now it's the back of her head that cracks against stone. Her vision fills with false light. She keeps ahold of the bear.

"Here," Menalippe calls. She's moved, she's farther away from Antiope now, somewhere off to the left. Antiope punches out again. She hits something and from the way her fist slides slightly she thinks it might be the bear's neck. Her next blow catches the bear in the ear. It roars, savage.

Again, the bear slams Antiope into the cave wall. This time, she loses her grip. She slips to the ground. Instinctively bringing her hands up to shield her face, she manages, "Here."

Antiope hears the snapping of wood. A spear, maybe hers, maybe Menalippe's, has broken.

Menalippe bellows, guttural. Pain. _Anger_. She's hurt. Antiope's heart, already racing, leaps into her throat. She staggers to her feet and stumbles towards the noise. She bumps into the bear again. This time, she brings a knee up and drives it into the animal.

The bear snarls. Antiope snarls back. The beast has hurt Menalippe. Antiope will rip it apart with nothing but her hands if she has half the chance. There's a sound of shifting and Antiope has the impression that it is facing her now. A clawed foot slams into her torso. Her thick cloak stops her from being ripped open, but she's still thrown into a wall and she's confident something _bad_ has happened to her chest.

Without time to recover and orient herself, Antiope rolls across the stone floor of the cave, throwing her arms out for some sense of her surroundings. "Here," she gasps.

"Here," Menalippe returns, voice hot with fury. She suddenly sounds close. As she speaks, her voice moves, she's crossing the cave - there's a crash, then an enraged animal noise.

Antiope thinks that Menalippe has rammed herself into the bear.

Antiope's hand finds the haft of a spear. From its weight, it's one of the broken pieces. "Here," she snaps quickly. She needs to know where Menalippe is. _Now_.

"Here," Menalippe growls back.

Antiope stumbles forward, brandishing her makeshift club in one hand and keeping the other hand blindly outstretched. Her empty hand bumps into Menalippe's shoulder. Menalippe's shoulder is pressed up against coarse bear fur.

Menalippe is wrestling the bear.

Good. Excellent. Yes. Antiope knows where Menalippe is and the bear is somewhat restrained.

Keeping one hand on Menalippe's shoulder, she lashes out with her broken spear-turned-club She catches the bear in, judging from the give, what is likely the face. There's a roar of startled pain. Antiope takes this as encouragement and strikes out in the same place. She beats the bear again and again and again until she can't hear the thing moving anymore. At some point she lets go of Menalippe to swing her club with both hands.

When she's done, her arms are so heavy she can barely lift them anymore.

It hurts to breath.

The bear is subdued. Whether or not it is still alive – this is uncertain but also certainly not as important as the fact that it is not moving.

Antiope lets the broken spear slip from her fingers and roll across the dark cave floor. She drops to her knees. Her head swims. "There wouldn't," she starts. She has to stop, to catch her breath again. She closes her eyes. They're not much use in the dark anyway. "There wouldn't have been a bear if you hadn't come and fallen down a hole," she says.

Menalippe grunts. She is in pain but her voice is strong and the strength of her comforts. Her hand finds Antiope's shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Aren't you glad I came?"

The corners of Antiope's mouth tug up into a faint smile. "Always glad when you come," she says.

Antiope is almost surprised when she isn't immediately thwacked in the face with a pillow.

[] [] []

Getting back out of the cave is far more difficult than falling into it was. That Menalippe fell in with her pack is a boon. As the only one of them who set out knowing they were bear hunting, she was the one carrying most of the rope. They use as much as they can spare to truss up the animal. When they are confident that it will not be able to escape its bonds, they maneuver to the thin shaft of light that marks the entrance to the hole. There is likely an easier way out, somewhere, but neither of them are inclined to go crawling through the small corners of a dark and unknown bear den.

Menalippe climbs up over Antiope, standing briefly on her shoulders before getting ahold of the ground above and pulling herself out. As she passes over Antiope, something wet drips onto Antiope's cheek. Antiope touches it, gets it between her fingers. Even without looking at it she knows that it's blood.

Up on the surface, Menalippe takes a rope from Antiope's pack and throws it down. Antiope secures the rope to the bear, then uses it to climb up and out of the pit. She takes Menalippe's pack with her. Her chest, the lower part of her chest and the upper part of her abdomen just over the ribs, protests every inch of the way. It's more of a dull pain than a sharp pain though and so she thinks that it is not so serious.

She worries that the same cannot be said of Menalippe's arm. Deep claw marks split skin and muscle and dirt has gotten rubbed into the wound. In the light of mid-morning, Antiope hopes that Menalippe's injury looks worse than it is. It looks a complete mess, the kind of thing that she'd order a warrior off the field over.

Menalippe sees where Antiope's eyes have gone to. "Bear first," she says.

Antiope presses her lips into a tight line. "You first," she says. She tries not to wince at the pain speaking causes. She does a poor job of it. Menalippe's eyes narrow.

"Bruised," Antiope grunts. "Not broken." When Menalippe continues to stare suspiciously, she adds, "Faith."

Shaking her head, Menalippe shoves some of the rope towards Antiope. "Bear now," she says. When Antiope doesn't immediately take the rope, she reiterates, " _Now_."

Grunting unhappily, Antiope takes the rope.

Even working together, hauling the bear up out of the pit is extremely difficult. If they were women born of mortal mothers they would likely be unable to get the thing lifted at all. The beast is _heavy_. When they finally have it up under the light of day, Antiope sees that she underestimated its size. It is five times as large as she is, at least. No wonder the cave felt so small.

"You now," Antiope says.

Instead of acquiescing, Menalippe sets to using the rest of their rope to further secure the bear. For all the beating that Antiope gave it, it's starting to wake. Before it can come to, Menalippe muzzles it.

Menalippe was probably right to see to the bear first.

While Menalippe works, Antiope takes bandages from their provisions. She can use water from one of their waterskins to wash Menalippe's wound. She is concerned what they have won't be enough. If she needs more water then there was a creek that they camped near the previous night, but it was some distance back. She'd like to get the wound cleaned and bandaged as quickly as possible and then not disturb it.

Only when Menalippe is satisfied that the bear is properly secured does she allow Antiope to fret over her arm. Cleaned, it's clear the wound doesn't reach bone. It is a flesh wound then, but they are a very long way from Themyscira and proper treatment. Menalippe tries to tell Antiope that it looks far more grisly than it is. This is not terribly reassuring as ' _not as bad as it looks_ ' is a low bar indeed. Antiope is highly suspicious when Menalippe insists it doesn't hurt.

Antiope patches Menalippe up as best she can and wishes dearly that she could do more.

[] [] []

Hauling the felled bear makes for slow travel. Because they would like the bear to still be alive when they return, they have to be somewhat gentle with it. They cannot, for example, simply drag it over rocks.

Though, as Antiope sees things, considering what it did to Menalippe, if they dragged it over rocks, the bear would deserve it.

Muscles straining, they carry it down the ridge to where the forest begins. Menalippe cuts a young tree and they rig the bear to the resulting pole, then set the pole on their shoulders.

Throughout the process, the bear is less than pleased. It twists this way and that fighting its bonds, and this slows them even further.

With the bear thus suspended, Menalippe leads the way, as always, through the forest. With the pole, the task is not so fraught as carrying the animal in their hands. It is still difficult going though. The bear does not like being trussed up and continues to struggle mightily, sometimes threatening Antiope's grip on the pole.

Antiope does not much like the thought that they must traverse all the distance that they came on the way out as they return. With her injury, breathing is painful and every time the bear so much as twitches the tree they're carrying it jams painfully into her shoulder, causing further _discomfort_ _to her everything_.

But it is all a challenge and she is always one to rise to challenges.

She grits her teeth and marches.

[] [] []

That night, they ration their food. Fighting the bear and then hauling it was hungry work. Either of them could easily eat all that they still have and still want for more. In truth, they should have been more conscious of their provisions on the journey up to the ridge, or at least made more of an effort to look for whatever roots might have been edible along the way. That it is the end of winter is no excuse for not making an attempt to forage.

Both of them knew better.

As they divide out their food evenly between them, they say little. They are both bone weary.

Antiope does not miss that Menalippe shifts more food into Antiope's portion when she thinks Antiope has looked away. It would be bad form to object, though the thought does cross Antiope's mind.

The one upshot now is that the bear is quite warm and they can sleep against it. It grunts a little, but for the most part it has given up fighting them.

[] [] []

The second day with the bear is misery incarnate. The morning starts with everything smelling like depressed bear and then shifts into everything smelling like coming rain. In the forest it's hard to see the dark clouds forming, but as the light dims, Antiope knows that a storm will soon be on them.

It will not be pleasant. There's nothing they can do about the weather though. They could always pray, but warding off rain is a poor use of the gods' favor.

It starts as a drizzle just before midday and turns to a downpour quickly. Antiope's cloak is soaked through before long, as is the bear. Carrying so much water-weight is difficult, even for her. Moreover, it's the day after being thwacked in the chest by an enraged bear and the second day is always the worst - one hopes.

She is distantly aware that the prudent course of action would be to abandon the bear and finish the trek back to the city that much faster. It is a very, very distant awareness. However, it grows closer as the day wears on.

Throughout the trek, they say almost nothing to one another. They would have to shout to be heard and that would take more energy than they can spare.

That night, sitting on watery leaf-litter huddled beneath a tree next to their bear, Antiope broaches the subject. "We don't need a bear," she starts. Around them, the rain continues to fall. She is almost fearful of Menalippe's answer. She's grown rather attached to their bear and she'd like to see Hippolyta's face when they come home with it.

"We have a bear," Menalippe replies, which is the right answer, in Antiope's opinion. She sounds a little cross that Antiope even suggested leaving the bear behind.

There's silence for a while, then, "Do we need to abandon our bear?" Menalippe asks. Her voice has shifted slightly from cross to worried.

Antiope shifts, testing the movement of her torso. It hurts, but it's tolerable. "No," she says. "We can keep our bear."

"Are you sure?" Menalippe has quickly devolved from worried to guilt- and anxiety-stricken.

Antiope leans over and kisses Menalippe on the cheek.

[] [] []

When morning comes, Antiope has slept poorly, or not at all. She's not sure which. She has a sense that she spent the entire rain-drenched night weaving in and out of wakefulness. A certain amount of embarrassment forms in her gut. Her restlessness probably kept Menalippe up, if the rain didn't.

Following an unspoken agreement, they eat the last of the food that they brought with them. It's too miserable of a day to do anything but. The rain is still falling, steady.

It will not be the first time that they've marched on empty stomachs and Antiope suspects it will not be the last. Such is life, such is war. At least at present they know that Themyscira is no more than two days away. The hunger comes and then, for a time, it fades as her stomach becomes accustomed to being empty.

They have both been through worse – alone.

Today, on this day of rain and bear, they are together.

That's all the sun Antiope needs.

She would not object though if Apollo chased away the storm above.

[] [] []

From time to time, Antiope wonders if she should ask to stop. As the sun begins to dip down in the late afternoon, her head begins to grow light with hunger. The world looks a little bleached out, faint, almost.

Every time she considers asking to stop, however, she decides against it.

She doesn't _need_ to.

And as long as she believes that she doesn't need to, truly believes, Menalippe can't be mad at her.

[] [] []

That night, Antiope eyes their bear. Marching without food has taken a great toll on her strength. She feels empty, worn out, sapped of herself.

"We could sacrifice it now," she suggests, speaking slowly, attempting to pretend that she has not been thinking about eating their bear for the better part of the afternoon.

"No, Antiope," Menalippe sighs. Sitting on their leather sheet with her back against the bear, she pats the ground next to her, indicating that Antiope come join her. The rain has finally stopped and the sky has cleared but the ground is sodden.

Morose, Antiope sits. Behind her, the bear groans.

"We could sacrifice it a little bit," Antiope suggests. She doesn't know what sacrificing an animal a little bit would look like, but she's sure Menalippe could figure something out.

Menalippe points up through the trees towards the clear night sky. "You see that rectangle of stars over there?"

Antiope looks towards where Menalippe is pointing. "It's the big bear." From where she sits she can make out a bit of the tail, but the legs and snout are hidden by the trees. Antiope knows full well that Menalippe is trying to distract her. She is not so easily steered. "I'll bet it's tasty."

"The bear's name is Callisto," Menalippe says. "She was one of divine Artemis' followers, beloved by Zeus."

"He turned her into an animal to get her away from another man, didn't he," Antiope says, somewhat warily.

Menalippe hesitates. Then, "Hera did it because she was jealous... But it's better than becoming a tree, isn't it?"

"Nothing good ever comes of father Zeus sleeping around," Antiope remarks. "Poor Artemis."

"Zeus put Callisto in the sky when her son was about to kill her," Menalippe tries.

"Are you trying to defend him?" Antiope asks, voice dry. "You're not doing a very good job, my love."

"Hera found out what Zeus had done and asked Tethys never to let Callisto rest in her waters," Menalippe continues.

Antiope turns slightly and directs her next words to their bear. "I am sorry we are going to sacrifice you," she says. "It must be a hard thing, being a bear. But I am sure you will be very tasty." Antiope reaches over and gives the trussed up bear a pat.

Menalippe's sigh is one of utter defeat.

[] [] []

To sleep with hunger is not an easy thing.

Antiope does not sleep.

[] [] []

The next morning, when Antiope returns from relieving herself, she finds Menalippe still seated next to the bear. Her eyes are closed. Antiope frowns. "My love?" she asks.

Menalippe doesn't answer.

Antiope finds a tree to lean against. She rubs her hands together, trying to bring warmth to them. Menalippe is looking for something in the future. There's no telling how long she'll be, but if Antiope sits now she likely won't get back up.

After a good long boredom, Menalippe opens one eye. "Hippolyta is sending people to find us. We have been gone far longer than it takes to catch a deer. We'll wait here for them."

Antiope's frown deepens. She crosses her arms. "I want to go back to Themyscira carrying our bear. I do not want to be carried back with our bear." On some level, of course, she knows that, hungry and sleepless they are in no condition to continue marching dragging their bear along with them, but she has her pride. She's grown very attached to the idea of a triumphant return to her sister.

Menalippe opens one eye and fixes it on Antiope. "You are injured and need to rest. It is bad that you've come even this far. They're bringing horses with them."

Antiope stretches her arms out and forces herself not to wince at the way her entire torso aches. She hasn't taken off her shirt and cloak since they left the city. If she did so now, they would reveal a vast expanse of ugly bruising. "I feel fine," she lies. She amends, "Better than yesterday." This, at least, is true. Maybe.

She's slightly less damp than yesterday. And so, Antiope reasons, she is better than she was.

Menalippe opens her other eye. She doesn't say anything. She just stares.

Antiope pulls her mouth into a smile. "Never better," she says. Her traitor stomach chooses that moment to growl so loud that surely any search party within a mile must have heard it.

Menalippe crosses her arms over her chest in such a way that her bandages, crimson and soggy, are clearly visible. "I am injured and need to rest," she announces.

There's a heavy pause.

Then, Antiope stomps over to Menalippe and sits down violently. "You don't play fair," she laments.

"No, I don't," Menalippe replies.

[] [] []

The day passes agonizingly slowly.

Looking for a deer – or a bear – was supposed to cure Antiope's boredom.

And yet now she sits bored once more. This time though, instead of going to her _lochagoi_ , she has Menalippe.

"Are they here yet?" Antiope asks for the seventeenth time. She was hungry last night, she was hungry this morning, she is hungry now. She is filled with the sort of restless frustration that comes with having a goal but making no progress towards it. She does not like waiting.

"No," says Menalippe. When the gods were handing out gifts, they gave Menalippe an abundance of patience and Antiope none at all.

Antiope waits a while. Then, "Are they-

"No," says Menalippe.

"Are you sure they're-"

" _Antiope_." Her tone brooks no dissent. The gods gave Menalippe an abundance of patience. 'An abundance of patience' is not always enough.

Antiope's teeth click as she closes her mouth. She pulls her knees up close and sets her chin on them. She puffs out her cheeks. She exhales. She fidgets in every way imaginable as she sulks.

After a time, Menalippe reaches over and grabs Antiope's knee, which she's been wiggling back and forth. Antiope stops moving that knee and starts moving the other. Menalippe shifts and grabs Antiope's other knee.

In contrast to Antiope's anxious need to move, Menalippe's hunger and exhaustion manifests as lethargy. Antiope is disturbing her peace and she has nowhere to escape to.

"I've seen you execute ambushes," Menalippe says. She is less than amused.

"I want to carry our bear home," Antiope replies.

Menalippe sighs. "Why don't you come up with a name for the bear?"

Antiope pauses. She shifts, twisting her torso so that she can examine the bear. She ignores the pain the movement causes because delivery is everything. "It's grouchy," she says. "We should call it Hippolyta."

Menalippe lets out a noise that is something between choking and laughter.

Pleased with herself, Antiope grins ear to ear. "I deserve a kiss," she says.

Menalippe agrees.

[] [] []

They are still kissing when Philippus arrives on horseback with several other Amazons behind her.

Philippus surveils the scene before her. "We've been looking for you all day," she says dryly.

Antiope pulls away from Menalippe reluctantly. There will be more time to kiss Menalippe later, she supposes. Focusing on Philippus now, she arches an eyebrow. "What took you so long?"

Philippus ignores her _strategos_ and looks to Menalippe. "That is not a deer. You could have warned us."

Menalippe shrugs. "Four legs," she says. "Fur. It looks like a deer to me."

Antiope picks up two sticks from the ground and holds them over the bear's head like antlers. She bestows upon Philippus her most winning smile.

Philippus pinches the bridge of her nose. "Let's get you two home then…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> work picked up this week, next update may be late. or not. this is a short fluff fic so i'm not agonizing over things nearly as much as i normally do, hah. i'm sort of just using this fic as space to work through some ideas for my NaNo next month.
> 
> ok have some footnotes:
> 
> Orion: The myth of Orion is kind of messy in that he's a folk hero sort of figure and there are a lot of stories and story variants about him with no one version that rose above the rest. The gist of the one that Menalippe and Antiope are discussing is that Orion was a great hunter, so great that he was a favorite of Artemis the goddess of the hunt. He was such a great hunter though that he was mauling biodiversity and such so Gaia created a scorpion to kill him. Artemis was sad and so she had Orion put among the stars. (There's another version of the story where it's Artemis who kills him...)
> 
> Callisto: So obviously this is a sad story about a woman who gets *ahem* screwed over by Zeus, but it's one of my "favorites" because, from a modern perspective, it reads as kinda gay. Callisto was a nymph who attended Artemis and had taken an oath of virginity in the course of being a follower of Artemis. Zeus desired Callisto and in order to seduce her, he waited until she was separated from Artemis and then made himself look like Artemis. Callisto ended up pregnant, which is how Artemis found out what happened. At this point, in Hesiod's version of the myth, Artemis got mad and turned Callisto into a bear. I used Ovid's version here, which has Diana kick Callisto out from her posse and then Juno turns Callisto into a bear. (The difference is that Hesiod was an 8th or 7th century BCE Greek poet and Ovid was a 1st century BCE/1st century CE Roman poet). Bears generally are important to Artemis (ex: the festival of Brauronia, a coming of age ritual for Athenian girls where they ran around pretending to be bears).


	3. Chapter 3

Antiope wakes to softness.

Also, to incredible stiffness, incredible soreness, and a general feeling that she has just survived being sat on by an elephant.

But – the point is, she wakes in Menalippe's bed with Menalippe sitting next to her reading a boring-looking scroll. Menalippe's injured arm is wrapped neatly in clean bandages. Deep in concentration, frowning slightly, she doesn't notice that Antiope has stirred.

Antiope opens her mouth to say good morning, but all that comes out is, " _Menalippe, where is our bear?_ "

Menalippe is very good at being Seer. She is excellent at avoiding questions. She would make a wonderful oracle. "You passed out on the journey back to the city," she says, eyes still fixed on her scroll.

" _Bear_ ," Antiope says, insistent. She starts to move, to try to get herself upright in bed.

Menalippe stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "The bear is fine," Menalippe says, looking away from her reading. "You need to rest."

Antiope settles. Her chest hurts. She thinks that if she did manage to get herself up, it would hurt more. She's in no condition to fight her way standing with Menalippe wanting her to stay down. Looking up forlornly at Menalippe, she mumbles, "Hippolyta?"

"Your sister Hippolyta or the bear Hippolyta?" Menalippe asks.

Menalippe removes her hand from Antiope's shoulder in order to roll up and put away her scroll. Antiope misses the contact. She shifts, threatening to try getting up again. Menalippe replaces the hand. The scroll remains only half-rolled.

"Both," Antiope says, comfortable once more. Lying still she does not hurt so much. Her eyes droop. She is very tired, though she suspects she has been asleep for some time.

"I convinced Philippus to tell Hippolyta it was a deer so that you could be there when she finds out," Menalippe says.

Antiope's eyes shoot open again. A mixture of surprise and glee bubbles up in her. "You did? What did you tell her?"

Menalippe clears her throat. "I _bribed_ Philippus to tell Hippolyta it was a deer," Menalippe amends.

"What did you give her?" Antiope asks.

Menalippe's small smile is full of mischief. "My silence," she says.

Menalippe says ' _silence_ ,' but all Antiope hears is ' _blackmail_.' "Seers," Antiope grumbles. "So when do I get to show Hippolyta the bear?"

"Four days," says Menalippe, firm. "And you'll stay resting until then. Understand?"

Antiope closes her eyes. If she's to rest, beside Menalippe is a good place to do it. She exhales, a long sigh of weary resignation mixed with contentment. "Yes, my love."

[] [] []

Though Antiope is by nature truly terrible at staying still, spending three days in Menalippe's bed is not such an awful fate.

Menalippe feeds her and waters her and gives her many kisses, though only ever on her mouth because her chest is healing slowly. After the first day, Menalippe arranges the pillows of the bed such that Antiope can sit up. It's less comfortable, but it's easier to breathe and to cough when upright. It takes very little effort to persuade Menalippe that she should sit behind Antiope, replacing the pillows. Menalippe is far better than pillows.

Leaning up against Menalippe, Antiope drifts in and out of wakefulness.

Her body mends but it does not mend as quickly as it once did. A decade ago, when she was new to the world, she could take her beatings and spring up the next day ready to fight again. She misses youth. But in those days, those faster days, she did not have Menalippe as she does now. And in those faster days, she never got to linger with her love.

She misses youth, but her life has moved on, moved forward, moved up.

[] [] []

On the morning of the fourth day, Antiope wakes up before the sun of her own accord. She feels… _functional_. It is a welcome change. The bruising on her chest has faded to a hideous yellow-green and, though it doesn't feel pleasant, she can get herself up and out of bed.

Menalippe, for once, is determined to sleep in. When Antiope rises, Menalippe rolls over and pulls her lumpy blanket with a lopsided horse on it over her head.

Antiope dresses herself and sits down at Menalippe's table. She props her chin on her hands and watches Menalippe's blanket-covered form. The horse design covers most of Menalippe's body and her steady breathing makes it look as if the horse is a little bit alive itself.

Antiope did a very good job with her weaving, if she might say so herself.

It is well into the morning when Menalippe finally wakes. The first thing she does is extend a hand from under the blanket, reaching across the bed. When she finds the bed empty, she groans, props herself up on her elbows, and opens her eyes. The blanket slides down, revealing her beautifully strong shoulders. She over to Antiope. "Bear now?" she asks, voice heavy with sleep.

Antiope grins. "Bear now."

[] [] []

Their bear is being kept in a pen right outside the city and so they decide that the best way to go about this endeavor is to fetch Hippolyta to go see it.

But first, Antiope would like to see it too.

Menalippe leads them to the pen. Philippus has fenced off an area and in the center of the area the bear sits tied to a heavy pole staked into the ground. The half-eaten carcass of a goat lies next to it. It looks only slightly happier than when Antiope and Menalippe had it tied upside down to a tree.

Well outside the range that the bear might be able to reach her, Antiope waves at the sad beast cheerfully.

The bear growls – moans, really – a truly mournful sound.

Menalippe sighs. "My love, how many times must I tell you – do not antagonize Hippolyta. She does not appreciate it."

Antiope turns her attention from the bear to Menalippe. She pops herself up onto the balls of her feet and steals a kiss.

[] [] []

Queen Hippolyta is no happier to see them than bear Hippolyta.

When they reach the palace, they find her busy settling a dispute between two neighboring farmers about the boundaries of a plot of land. She looks exasperated even before she catches sight of them entering the great hall. When she finishes with the farmers, she dismisses the rest of her petitioners so that she can focus on her sister and Menalippe.

"I assume you've come here to explain to me how catching a deer turned into a week's adventure that required four days of bedrest," Hippolyta says dryly.

Antiope clears her throat. "There were unexpected circumstances," she says.

"Antiope fell down a hole," Menalippe adds, tone solemn. "She wasn't watching where she was going."

Antiope glances at Menalippe, eyes narrowing. Then, she looks back to her sister and smiles. "I was too busy watching Menalippe."

Hippolyta considers this for a moment. Her eyes flicker from Antiope to Menalippe and then back again. In a drawl, "Plausible. Though I hope you do not become so distracted on the field of battle." She gestures, indicating Menalippe's bandaged arm. "And that? Did you lose a fight with a thorn bush?"

"It was a very fierce bush, my queen," Menalippe says.

"Would you like to come see our deer?" Antiope asks.

"Unlike you," Hippolyta begins, "I have responsibilities."

"It's a very impressive deer," Menalippe says.

Then, Antiope, "The biggest deer you've ever seen."

"We're very proud of it," Menalippe deadpans.

Again, Hippolyta looks between the two women before her. "It's not a deer," she concludes. "What did you drag back with you?" Instead of angry, she's utterly resigned.

"Of course it's a deer, my queen," Menalippe says.

"It has four legs," Antiope adds. "And fur."

Hippolyta's sigh is longsuffering. "Fine then. Take me to your _deer_."

[] [] []

When Hippolyta lays eyes on the bear, she fights to keep her face blank. Antiope can see it in the way the muscles in her cheeks twitch and the way her jaw goes very tight.

Antiope, grinning, "Do you like our deer?"

Hippolyta says nothing. Her face is starting to turn a pale red.

"Antiope named it Hippolyta," Menalippe provides. "Because it was so… _grand_."

In silence, Hippolyta turns around and stalks away, back towards the palace.

Speaking now in a low voice, Menalippe asks, "Was that too much?"

Antiope laughs, though not so loud that the retreating Hippolyta will hear. "My love – I love you."

Menalippe now smiles. "I am marrying you for you, of course," she says. "But your sister is a pleasant bonus."

[] [] []

As the wedding grows near, Hippolyta helps herself to Antiope's life and Menalippe's as well. She keeps Menalippe busy overseeing logistics – ensuring that the wine is ready, preparing the torches, and like activities. Hippolyta keeps Antiope busy by dispatching aides to instruct her in the ceremony and ensure that she practices.

There's no use complaining of injustice. Menalippe is a priestess. She knows well how to speak to the gods. When Antiope needs the gods' favor, she tends to make up her prayers as she goes. Hippolyta will have none of this for the wedding. And, in truth, Antiope would like for the wedding to go according to Hippolyta's plan. She trusts that her sister has planned well, has planned better than she could have done, and she desires that, on this day that is as much for Menalippe as it is for herself, nothing go awry.

So Antiope sits at a table in the great library of Themyscira and works to memorize her prayers under Clio's watchful eye.

Outside, it rains.

[] [] []

The night before the wedding, a messenger comes to Menalippe's door. Hippolyta would like to see her sister.

Antiope tries to linger but Menalippe kisses Antiope and tells her to go.

They will see one another again in the morning, and then they will have all the rest of their lives together.

Antiope can give her sister this one night.

[] [] []

Hippolyta has had a dinner laid out for the two of them in her private chambers.

When Antiope arrives, Hippolyta greets her with an embrace.

They eat in comfortable silence.

Antiope drinks, but not heavily.

There is too much anticipation in her. She does not want her senses dull in the morning.

When they have both eaten their fill, Hippolyta asks, "Would you like to see the crown that I've made for her?"

Antiope's laugh comes easily. "I suppose," she says. "As the two of you both have already seen it."

Hippolyta has been keeping the crown in a chest in her bedroom. It will not be given until the _epaulia_ , the second-day feast. She takes it from the chest and brings it out to Antiope.

The crown is a thing of beauty. Red and gold, it is shaped like a helm and Antiope wonders that it could even be worn in battle. Hippolyta presents it to her and when Antiope takes it in her hands she knows immediately that it is steel. The gold on it is fine gilt. It will chip away beneath the strike of a blade, but it will stop the blade. Then, when the battle is done, it will show how it has been worn. It will tell its own tale.

It is the crown of a warrior.

"Menalippe will love this," Antiope says. She looks up to grin at her sister. "Almost as much as she loves me."

Hippolyta gives Antiope a wry grin of her own, in every respect a match to Antiope's. "I doubt it," she says, "I don't think the love of an object could ever compare to _that_."

A chuckle escapes Antiope's lips. "Probably not," she says. "Thank you."

"She is joining my house, even as you leave it," Hippolyta replies.

Antiope hands the crown back to her sister. "Thank you for that, as well," she says.

"Hm?" Hippolyta questions. She sets the crown down on their table and goes to sit in her seat once more.

Instead of sitting, Antiope chooses to pace. Hippolyta's quarters are large and she has ample room. She raises a hand and runs it through her hair, stopping when she reaches her braid. "For… saying yes? For allowing this? For giving us your blessing?"

Hippolyta tolerates Antiope's pacing without comment. Elbows on the table, she folds her hands together and props her chin on them. "You know and you knew that I wouldn't deny this," she says. "The love you have for one another is obvious. Interfering would be beyond my right."

Antiope finally returns to her seat across from Hippolyta. She mimics her sister's posture and looks Hippolyta in the eyes. "You're a good sister," she says.

"I do my best," Hippolyta replies.

[] [] []

When morning comes, Antiope and Hippolyta rise together at first light. Hippolyta helps her sister dress in a white chiton edged with a hem of gold thread. They leave Antiope's hair undone. Then, they go together from the palace to the river at the base of the city.

Menalippe is waiting for them there on the bank, attended by Penthesilea. Like Antiope, Menalippe wears white, though her garment is less rich. At a safe distance, Artemis stands holding their bear, heavily drugged, by its rope.

When Menalippe catches sight of Antiope, she smiles and her smile lights the world.

Menalippe is radiant. In the early morning sun, she seems to Antiope to be cast in gold, a vision that even the gods would envy.

To avert the envy of the gods, they must sacrifice and they must pray.

An altar has been constructed for them, made of green wood. Spring has come. The river is loud, overfull with freezing meltwater and spring rains. Next to the altar sits an urn filled with dark wine.

They pour out libations to the land.

Penthesilea lights incense and Hippolyta hands Antiope a razor sharp blade. Artemis leads the bear to the altar. No one speaks. They are not here for one another, they are here for the gods.

Menalippe pulls the bear's head back, exposing its neck.

Antiope strikes quickly because she does not like Menalippe keeping her hands so near the bear's mouth, even if the animal is placid. Red blood spills out, staining both of their white garments crimson. Antiope recites the prayer she has spent a week memorizing, calling upon divine Artemis to grant them safe passage from her domain. Her voice is strong. She does not falter, she does not slow.

In this moment, Antiope feels as if she has been waiting her entire existence for this prayer, for this rite, for this day.

When all the bear's life has drained away, Antiope takes the bloody knife and cuts a lock of her hair free. She hands the knife to Menalippe, who then does the same. They burn the cut hair in the incense and together they pray to Aphrodite to accept them into her protection.

Prayer said, Antiope looks to Menalippe and Menalippe looks to Antiope. Antiope sees a love equal to her own in Menalippe's eyes and it fills her with joy. A hand on her shoulder now pulls her away though. The sacrifices are not yet done. Antiope sets her blade down and follows her sister.

Hippolyta leads Antiope down the riverbank and Penthesilea takes Menalippe in the opposite direction. They go until they reach the appointed place where Philippus waits with a heavy chest. The chest is not open. It is for later.

Instead of opening the chest, Philippus offers Antiope another knife.

There are no livestock here.

Such is not the sacrifice that Antiope will give to Ares.

Antiope kneels in the mud beside the river. She holds Philippus' knife in her right hand. She lays the cold tip of the blade against the inside of her forearm. She sets her teeth closed and presses her lips tight before she begins to drag the metal down through her skin.

At her side, she feels her sister tense.

Antiope goes a full hand's breadth. She cuts _deep_ because for this she needs blood.

When she speaks, she does so with a clear voice. This is the only prayer that she'll say today the composition of which she wrested from Hippolyta. "Ares," she begins, "Great son of Zeus, great son of Hera, golden-helmed stormer who defends high Olympus, hear me blazing lord of men. I give of my blood to you, as I have before and as I will always. I have always on the field of battle fought for your glory. I ask now that you grant me your blessing to fight for another as well."

Antiope pauses to lick her lips. Her throat has gone dry. She swallows, finds her voice again.

"I would give myself to my love, Menalippe of Themyscira. By your leave, I would dedicate the life that I have spent in service to you to her. Bold Ares, who rallies men to the salvation of their cities, for the sake of my faith to you, I beseech that you grant me this recognition of my heart."

At that, Antiope stabs Philippus' knife into the ground and she stands. She undresses and leaves her bloody clothes in a heap on the bank.

She faces the freezing river.

Forcing herself into the water is harder by far than cutting her arm.

Somewhere, Menalippe is about to step into the river. Or, perhaps, she has already done so.

The thought of this gives Antiope strength.

Setting one foot in front of the other she walks forward.

The ice water steals her breath even when it barely comes up to her knees. And she must go all the way in. Summoning all her will, Antiope splashes farther in, braving the fast-flowing meltwater. When the river rises to her upper chest, she holds her breath and shoves herself under.

She comes back up almost immediately. Working as fast as she can, she scrubs at the blood on her hands. When she is clean and can take no more of the river, she makes a beeline for the bank.

On the shore, Hippolyta and Philippus are ready with a cloth for her to dry herself with. The chest is open now. Within it is a rich purple peplos and many glittering adornments as well, Hippolyta's gift to Antiope's house. Hippolyta and Philippus will now bandage her arm and they will dress her and braid her hair and set gold on her and place a crown of ivy on her head.

Hippolyta and Antiope both smile and laugh as soon as Antiope is free of the river. Hippolyta embraces her sister. Antiope is careful to avoid getting blood on Hippolyta's white and gold garments.

The period of solemnity is over. The wedding can begin.

[] [] []

Antiope would like to sprint to the feast where she will see Menalippe again, but she has the self-control to force herself to walk at a respectable pace. Every step she takes is heavy, weighed as she is by precious metals and gems. Necklaces of gold rope, jeweled rings, a belt of finely worked gold and silver – all the wealth that can be worn, Antiope wears. Behind her come Hippolyta and Philippus, guardians and attendants.

It is late morning now. The sky is clear and the sun shines down on them all.

The feast, one of the greatest Themyscira has ever seen, is laid out on the training fields, the only area large enough to accommodate so many. Long tables are set and they creak beneath the weight of food and wine. All Themyscira, all the Amazons, mill about around the tables, waiting.

They are waiting for Antiope.

They are waiting for Menalippe.

One table has been set above the rest on a raised platform made of wood. Antiope goes to it and sits down in the seat of highest honor. Today she sits above even her sister.

And then she waits.

All eyes are on her. She fidgets. She twists and looks back towards the river.

She is all nerves.

She does not know what it is that Menalippe's honor of Hermes entails. As Antiope crafted her prayer to Ares, so too did Menalippe create the words she would say to her god. Hermes is a strange lord and Menalippe alone among the Amazons has insight into his workings.

Surely nothing Menalippe came up with could take so long though?

Antiope's stomach knots – impatience, anxiety, _anticipation_. She fiddles with the gold rings on her fingers.

When finally she sees three figures in the distance, she stands, unable to sit any longer. Squinting, she can make out Penthesilea, Clio, and _Menalippe_.

A smile breaks across Antiope's face. It takes all the self-restraint in her being not to wave to the far-off party.

Beside her, Hippolyta remains seated. Antiope can feel Hippolyta's own smile though, twin to her own.

The approach is maddeningly slow. Just as Antiope forced herself to come to the feast at a walk, so too does Menalippe's party come at a dignified pace.

Antiope forces herself to accept this state of affairs.

It just gives her time to appreciate Menalippe.

Menalippe wears a white tunic with a purple cloak. She carries a staff in one hand. On her head is a garland much like Antiope's. When she has come close enough, she looks up, finds Antiope's eyes, and smiles. For the rest of the approach, she does not look away and neither does Antiope.

When she has finally come up onto the platform and when she has finally come within reach, Antiope closes the remaining distance between them. Antiope gets a hand on either side of Menalippe's head and pulls her down into a deep kiss.

[] [] []

_The first time they meet, they are young. They are new. They have seen so little of the world._

_And yet Antiope knows, knows in her bones, knows in her heart, knows in her soul that—_

_It is a feeling of inevitability and she hurls herself into it._

_She has seen Menalippe from a distance many times but so close she feels caught by the pull of something far greater than herself._

_On the training field, she leans over and offers Menalippe a hand up._

_Menalippe smiles and takes it._

[] [] []

_The first time they go together, Antiope has had no small amount of wine._

_She is nervous._

_She knows what she wants but she is afraid to give and to take because in the face of what she wants, in the face of the scale of her desire, she feels very small. She feels as a lone traveler in a great tempest, buffeted by wind and by rain and directed by forces beyond her control._

_Menalippe kisses her and undresses herself and, laboring in tandem with Menalippe, Antiope is unable to feel small any longer._

[] [] []

_The first time they fight, it's over such an insignificant thing – a thing so small that in later years Antiope forgets what it was, exactly. What she remembers is the confusions of what follows._

_Menalippe is shocked that Antiope has not done as she expected._

_Antiope is furious that Menalippe would so presume._

_Their quarrel lasts months because when two people have never fought before, they are ill-accustomed to the arcane steps of making peace._

_For Antiope, the months are miserable months. The months are months spent wondering if the separation will last forever. The months are months spent worrying that she will not find it within herself to forgive._

_But in the end, she does._

_And when she does, she takes Menalippe in her arms and holds her as she cries._

[] [] []

_And the first time they love – the first time they love is the same as the last time they love is the same as all the times that they love._

_They love, endless._

[] [] []

The feast lasts for the whole of the day. Antiope finally gets to eat her bear. The Amazons all dine richly and drink heartily but, even so, there's food and wine to spare still when evening falls.

When the distant sun touches the earth on the horizon, Menalippe stands and Antiope stands following her. Menalippe leads Antiope to a golden chariot drawn by a team of four black horses and helps Antiope up into it before joining her. All around them, attendants pass out torches to the guests.

Hippolyta lights her torch first and goes to stand beside the chariot on her sister's side, just as Penthesilea does the same for Menalippe.

Menalippe drives the chariot forward and Hippolyta and Penthesilea walk, keeping pace with it. The other Amazons carry torches behind them, dancing and singing. The sum of it all is a great boisterous cacophony that rises up to the darkening heavens.

The festivities are lost on Antiope. She has little interest in them. The whole of her world is standing beside her, one arm around Antiope's waist.

Though Menalippe's house is near to the field, she directs the procession all through the streets of the city. Antiope thinks that there is no one in all Themyscira who was not in attendance at the feast, who is not now walking behind them, but this is a day of ritual as much as it is a day of celebration. There must be no doubt it anyone's mind of their union.

[] [] []

When they finally reach Menalippe's house, Menalippe gets out of the chariot first and then offers Antiope her hand. Antiope is reaching out to take it when Menalippe changes her mind and grabs Antiope by the waist and lifts her out of the chariot.

Antiope grumbles.

Menalippe smiles. Everyone around them is singing still, so she bends down to Antiope's ear to speak, "You're only upset because you didn't think of doing it."

Since Menalippe has done her the favor of coming so close, Antiope settles her arms around Menalippe's neck and answers her with another kiss. Menalippe responds by pushing her tongue into Antiope's mouth and sliding her hands down to cup Antiope's ass.

A shout catches their attention for a moment. Penthesilea has opened the door to Menalippe's house and is gesturing that they go in.

Menalippe pulls away slightly. "I think they're trying to tell us something," she says.

"Get a room?" Antiope replies. "Nothing they've never told us before."

Menalippe's laughter distracts Antiope just enough that Menalippe is able to scoop her up off her feet. Instead of protesting, Antiope grabs onto Menalippe to secure herself and then leans up to kiss her again.

Menalippe keeps the kiss short. She pulls back before long. "I think," Menalippe begins. She takes a step towards the door of her house, adjusts her hold on Antiope, then walks. When she speaks, her warm breath tickles Antiope's ear. "I think that they are telling us to consummate our marriage."

As they cross Menalippe's threshold, Penthesilea closes the door behind them. Outside, the singing continues.

Menalippe sets Antiope down with a grunt.

" _Lochagos_ , have you been neglecting your training?" Antiope asks. "Surely I am not so heavy."

Menalippe mock-scowls. "You're too short to be heavy," she says lightly. "But you're wearing your weight in gold." She gestures to herself, dressed in only a tunic and purple cloak and with little other adornment. "I feel I have brought little to our house in comparison."

Antiope grabs Menalippe by her tunic and pulls her in for another kiss. When she has taken what she wanted, she pulls back and sets her forehead against Menalippe's. She keeps her hands fisted in Menalippe's shirt. She meets Menalippe's brown eyes with her clear blue ones. Her breathing is quick and her voice is rough as she replies, "You have brought yourself and you have made me the richest woman in this world. Now _undress me_."

There's a light in Menalippe's eyes that Antiope understands as a mixture of anticipation and desire and joy. "As you command, my love," Menalippe murmurs.

Menalippe starts with the necklaces. Still facing Antiope, still keeping her head tilted to leave her forehead against Antiope's, she reaches around to unclasp the ropes of gold. She moves her hands slowly, deliberately. Her forearms rest on Antiope's shoulders, steadying her movements. She's doing it all by feel. She never looks away from Antiope's face.

They are close. _So close_. There is a hunger in Antiope that urges her to erase the distance between them and press her body against Menalippe's and shove her tongue into Menalippe's mouth and run hands over skin.

She quiets herself and drinks in Menalippe's movements.

Menalippe is moving for her.

Though her heart beats loud and quick, though her breath is uneven, there is no need to rush.

One by one the necklaces, Hippolyta's gifts to her sister and her sister's bride, fall to the floor of Menalippe's house. Only when Menalippe has removed them all does she allow her hands to slip downwards. She grazes her fingertips over the fabric of Antiope's peplos, applying only enough pressure that Antiope can feel the fabric move against her skin but none of Menalippe's touch. "Your sister attended you very well," Menalippe says softly. With the singing outside, Antiope must strain to hear her. "But you don't need gold or purple. You are far more beautiful than all this."

Menalippe's hand finds hers now. Warm skin, rough calluses.

Menalippe takes Antiope's hand and raises it up. She kisses Antiope's knuckles. Her eyes still never leave Antiope's. Her tongue darts out, runs along Antiope's fingertips.

Antiope holds herself perfectly still. She continues to watch.

Menalippe tests one of Antiope's rings with her thumb. It's loose.

Antiope knows what comes next. The hunger in her is building and it is ever harder not to move, to act, to set in motion. But she has already set in motion.

Menalippe takes Antiope's finger in her mouth, grazes teeth over skin, rolls her tongue –

 _Menalippe moves for her_.

When her hands are free of gold, Antiope takes the opportunity to slip them into Menalippe's hair, cupping the back of her head, jerking her forward for another kiss.

Antiope starts the kiss, but Menalippe controls it.

It's a slow kiss.

It's a deep kiss.

It's the kind of kiss that Antiope can close her eyes and lose herself in – and she does.

Chill air touches her back. Her clothes lie about her feet. Menalippe's warm hands rest for a moment on her waist, then one slides up, rising all along her side, dragging light across her shoulder, settling finally by the soft base of her neck. The movement is languid. The pad of her thumb traces a gentle circle in the hollow just above Antiope's sternum.

Menalippe pulls back from their kiss.

Antiope opens her eyes.

"My love," Menalippe says quietly. Her cheeks are wet. Her smile is soft. "My love, you are the light of my life."

Menalippe pauses and Antiope starts to reply but, with a shake of her head, Menalippe stops her. She has not yet finished her piece.

Antiope waits.

For Menalippe, she will always wait.

Finally, Menalippe speaks once more, voice thick, "My love, I love you so much."

"I know," Antiope breathes. "I know, my love. I know."

"I…" Menalippe starts. She falters. She swallows. She blinks away her tears. "I love you."

Antiope presses her lips to Menalippes, then pulls away. A brief kiss. It's her turn. She speaks. She commands. "Don't tell me. _Show me_. And let me show you."

Menalippe's cloak and tunic join Antiope's clothes on the floor.

Their wait is over now.

Locked together, they stumble to their bed then fall ungracefully into it.

Antiope sets to work. No more waiting. Just wanting. Just taking. Just having. They're sprawled out such that she's on top – one hand presses Menalippe _down_ , the other goes _down_. She drags blunt fingernails over hard muscle. When she finds Menalippe's center, Menalippe's hips buck.

Antiope grins. She keeps her hand very still. She shifts, just enough to bring her mouth to Menalippe's ear.

"I love you," Antiope says.

And then she fucks her wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Somewhat unfortunately, I finished this chapter the evening of Oct. 31 and then started up on my Antiope/Menalippe NaNoWriMo a few hours later - meaning I haven't had time (and won't have time) to do proper revisions. Hopefully it doesn't show too much, hah. The upside to this is that is that I cracked 10k words on my NaNo yesterday (so, like, I did 10k words in three days) and I'm perhaps contemplating shooting for a 100k double NaNo or something in that range... which would significantly slow posting of the fic when I finish due to edit time. Lol. Trade offs. Oh, btw, I will probably not be posting in the next couple weeks as I work on my NaNo. Anyway. Thank you so much for reading! <3
> 
> also, like, y'all, 4srs give this pairing some love and write some fics??? :D
> 
> Footnotes: The wedding rituals in this chapter are very loosely (like, very, very loosely) based on ancient Athenian wedding traditions. What I'm providing here is a fairly general summary of wedding elements that I was referencing. Ok. So. Obviously sacrificing wild bears was not a normal urban Greek practice. However, as the wedding was a coming of age ceremony / transition moment for the bride, there was normally an offering to Artemis (goddess of maidens) (Antiope and Menalippe aren't virgins, but the wedding rite sort of assumes it and it would be inappropriate not to sacrifice to Artemis in their circumstances), and also to Aphrodite (goddess of sexually mature women). Following those offerings, both bride and groom would wash. Rivers had an association with fertility and bathing has a purification aspect in (most?) religions. The pre-wedding bath could be in a river but, in a city, more likely it would be via water carried from a symbolically significant water source in a special vase called a 'loutrophoros.' After bathing, the spouses-to-be have to get dressed. In this fic, I gave Menalippe roughly the clothes that a groom would wear (my motivation here was that a chunk of the angst in Better Days to Come was stemming from the idea of Menalippe being a member of Antiope's household, so in this fic I wanted to flip things around and move Antiope into Menalippe's household - obviously there's a third option of joining and creating a new joint household, but that just wasn't what I felt like this time around) and Antiope is dressed as a bride (she's wearing a peplos, which is a distinctive kind of ancient Greek dress where a large sheet of fabric wraps around the body and is then pinned at the shoulders), though I skipped the veil part because I was trying really hard to keep things simple. (another spot I tried to simplify for the sake of readability was the sacrifices - it seemed better to go with a small scale more intimate sacrifice than the state spectacle that should probably actually accompany this wedding). Anyway, then there's feasting (on the sacrificed animals - though, again, I avoided writing a giant state sacrifice scene), and there's dancing, and there's a torch-lit procession from the bride's house to her new husband's house (though in this case, they're leaving from the field instead of a house) (torches ward off bad vibes) (sometimes you'd also have the groom's best man stand on the bride's other side as protection too). There's a lot of other stuff that's would be going on (bride eats an apple, weird customs that seem kind of icky from a 21st century perspective, arrangement of marriage chamber, etc.) but at some point in all this I got lazy, hahah. Oh, and, in this fic, Menalippe carries Antiope over the threshold, but that's not Greek. I think it might be Roman. Or something. I don't know, Menalippe did it because she thought it would be fun. And now I'm tired of squinting at my notes. For more on Greek weddings, see The Wedding in Ancient Athens (199) by John Oakley and Rebecca Sinos - very well written, very nice gallery of ancient images of Athenian wedding.


End file.
